


Sixty Minutes

by viajeramyra



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Berlermo deserves good thinks, Berlin is alive, Fluff and Angst, Injury, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, Palermo deserves better, Post-Canon Fix-It, WHO NEEDS CANON, What-If, but who cares, injured!Palermo, possessive!Berlin, protective!Berlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:25:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23090116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: Injuries have a way of heightening emotions.And Berlin would do anything to keep Palermo safe.--48 Meters Down, but if Berlin were still alive and involved in the heist.
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín
Comments: 12
Kudos: 264





	Sixty Minutes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ironccap](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ironccap/gifts).



> Tonight's edition brought to you by: does Myra ever sleep? Does she ever stop thinking about scenarios to throw Berlermo into? Is she going to survive if the new season doesn't have soft moments between them? 
> 
> The world may honestly never know. 
> 
> What I do know, however, is I very well may have doubled the amount of fics under the Berlin/Palermo tag by the time April 3rd rolls around.

Sixty minutes. The time started as soon as the bombs went off, and the doors closed hard together. From across the room, Martín nodded at Andrés, his face tempted to break out in a smile. Their plan was finally under motion, even if it wasn’t the exact circumstances they’d wanted. The flash of pride he saw reflected in Andrés’ eyes was more than enough for him, though. Andrés was calm, biding his time before he would relinquish the role of leader off Martín’s shoulders. His face was too easily recognizable, after being displayed across the whole of Spain during the robbery at the Mint. It had made sense for Martín to get them inside the Bank, giving orders left and right. He had prepared for it, but somehow it still felt unnatural to fill in what he all too happily left to Andrés. 

The hostages continued to fill the room in a panic, huddled together and many of them still screaming. Denver, Mónica,and Bogotá were in charge of making sure they were gathered together, and ready for their grand reveal. Martín walked a step in front of Andrés as they climbed the spiral staircase, Helsinki behind them. 

“You’re doing well, Martín.” Andrés’ voice was barely audible, but still managed to stand out against the noise of their panicked audience. He exhaled softly, his eyes glancing down at the ground below him as he tried to fight the redness he could feel in his cheeks. 

Helsinki took the spot to his left, as Andrés took the spot to his right. Their eyes looked out over the crowd, all huddled together. The screaming had started to die down, instead now whispering amongst each other. Several were still clutching desperately to friends or loved ones, rocking back and forth to try and soothe themselves. After all, nobody really knew what was going on just yet. The criminals had yet to show their faces, and no one had seemed to recognize them yet. He turned his back, as he closed his eyes and prepared. 

Nairobi and Tokyo had left the room, mere moments before the bombs had gone off. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andrés start to shrink into the shadow. Once the hostages had put on their red jumpsuits, he would meet Andrés with Bogotá to start overseeing entrance into the vault, while Andrés resumed command. Between the two of them, Martín knew they stood a chance at getting to the secrets held inside before their time was up. 

He slowly turned around to face the anxious crowd. “You’ll be safe here,” he promised, as he reached the railing. “Stay calm.” He looked out amongst them, all eyes on him. There was a fleeting rush of power from being in control of the room, but it felt uncomfortable on his shoulders. He was content to step back, let Andrés take control while he worked on the technical aspects. Often, that meant staying somewhere remote away from the action. But, after what almost happened at the Mint if Martín hadn’t been there, he insisted on coming along. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is Palermo.” He reached up and started to undo his jacket. At least it gave him an opportunity for a moment of theatrics. He could never turn down the ability to embrace just enough dramatics. He was sure Andrés would be rolling his eyes, if he were still in the room. “And I have two pieces of news for you, one good and one bad.” His fingers continued to undo the front of his military jacket, as he continued, “The bad news is that the Bank of Spain is under attack. And the good news,” he discarded the jacket and stretched out his arms over the crowd, “is that we are the attackers.” 

Chaos ensured once more, people trying to run through the open door behind them. Denver stood in their way, gun cocked and ready. They fell backwards, some actually tripping over as they realized they were trapped. Some looked at them with paralyzing fear; while other He and Helsinki started down the stairs, moving onto the next stage of the plan. “You will each take one of these, and put them on in the next three minutes.” 

They walked amongst the crowd, gathering phones and making sure the hostages were following orders. Things were running smoothly, but Tokyo and Nairobi had yet to make contact about securing the dolphin. They’d agreed sending two women would give them an edge against the security detail. Even so slightly, they wouldn’t feel so threatened by the two of them, and it gave them an advantage. But, Martín had studied enough about each one of the guards to know Gandia was capable of taking on both of them alone. He glanced down at his watch, knowing that he and Bogotá were past due for taking on their next task. 

But something had sank in his stomach, like a heavy weight. His mind started to race, the overwhelming feeling of worry threatening to overpower him. He cursed under his breath, working hard to regain control of his emotions. He could do better than this, and it didn’t have to be for much longer. It was reasonable that the girls had to take more time, more caution in completing their task. Still, he couldn’t shake the negative feeling that tried to consume him. 

The sound of footsteps running made him turn around, in just enough time to see Stockholm burst through the door. “Berlin!” She shouted, as her feet quickly tumbled to a fault in the room. He spun around to face her, and the look in her eyes told him all that he needed to know. “Palermo. We have a problem,” she finished. 

“Go get Berlin,” he ordered, after listening to her quick confirmation that Tokyo and Nairobi were nowhere near the room that would hold the governor and serve as their communication headquarters. He rushed out of the room, followed quickly by Helsinki, Bogotá, and Denver. 

Luck. It had taken an unnerving amount of luck to find Tokyo and Nairobi, only mere seconds after Gandia and the rest of the governor’s bodyguards had. They encircled Tokyo and Nairobi, while Palermo and the remaining members of the group surrounded them on the second floor. His heart was racing, too far out of his control. He could feel the pools of sweat, rushing down his face from behind the mask and hood. The heat was unbearable, as he reached to pull them off, before pointing his gun at the back of Gandia’s head. 

The logical move would be to surrender, but Palermo knew Gandia would be looking for his moment to be the hero. He also knew whatever went right or wrong in that moment rested solely on his shoulders. Berlin was too far away to take control of the situation, and the team would cease to trust either one of them if they were left feeling unprotected. He knew he had to get Gandia’ attention off Tokyo and Nairobi, no matter the cost, and no matter the consequences.

Gandia had spun and fired his gun before he even had a chance to recognize what was going on. Lucky for him, Tokyo’s gun had gone off just a second before, causing Gandia to miss what should’ve been a fatal hit. Instead, Martín heard the glass shatter next to him, before the shards came flying across his eyes. He landed hard on his side, his head taking the brunt of the fall. 

“Martín!” 

Andrés’ voice echoed in his ears, as he hissed in pain. He tried to shift his body onto his back, unable to open his eyes. He could feel the glass rubbing between his eye and half closed eyelid, and whimpered as he fought the urge to try and wipe it away from his eyes. No matter how much it scratched, no matter how sharp the sensation, he would only make it worse if he touched his eyes. He could feel his heart pounding in his head, overwhelming and drowning out anything or anyone else in the room. He wasn’t sure of his surroundings, or how long it would take to get to him. 

He agonized, wishing he hadn’t been so set on protecting everyone else. Still, he had been acting as the leader. He had been trying to think like Andrés, do the things the way he knew Andrés would do them. But  _ oh,  _ how he regretted it. 

He felt his body lifted off the floor, and onto something long and cold instead. He tried to see who all was there, and who had been left to deal with detaining any of the guards. His eyes started to fill with tears, the longer the glass stayed in his eyes, which only made them sting worse. 

A hand wrapped in his, incoherent shouting filling his ears as the room seemed to speed past him. He held tighter to Andrés’ soft hand, feeling the only sense of relief from the pain. He was there, watching over him instead of continuing the mandatory preparations. He knew that might prove to be a mistake, but he didn’t care. It was selfish, and he knew it, but he wanted Andrés there with him.

“Bogotá and Nairobi, go,” Andrés barked. He had no patience for anyone in the room, his vision still filled with red as he looked at Martín’s shaking body on the table. He and Mónica had taken off as quickly as they could, but when he heard the guns go off he knew they had gotten there too late. He ran into the room, in just enough time to see Martín fall. He snarled, shaky fingers pulling out his gun, aimed at the man responsible. His finger coiled around the trigger, and he didn’t need to think twice about his decision. 

Around him, Tokyo rushed to find something to remove the glass, while Helsinki worked on finding something to secure Palermo to the table. It would do him no good to fight what needed to be done to try and save his eyes. Stockholm and Denver had backed out of the room, as quickly as they could, to manage the hostages once more. 

The phone rang, and he wanted to send it smashing through the wall. His legs wouldn’t carry him away from Martín’s side, his hand still clutching his partner’s. He shouldn’t have agreed to allow Martín to be in charge. He knew he ran a higher risk of being recognized, but Martín wasn’t fit to be a leader. He had never  _ wanted  _ to be a leader, had sat back and let Andrés take control while he was the brains behind their plans. He should’ve fought Sergio harder on that. 

“Answer the phone, Berlin,” Tokyo hissed. 

He growled at her, before he quickly moved to pick up the phone in one quick motion. 

“Where were you? Where is the Governor?” Sergio demanded, his voice quick and raspy, as if he were out of breath. 

“I told you letting Martín be in charge was a bad idea,” he snapped in response. He could almost imagine Sergio taking a step back, surprised by the harshness of his tone. Sergio’s first rule briefly crossed his mind, and he wanted to swat it out of the air like an annoying pest buzzing around his ear. It had never been a problem with him before. 

“We needed him. He protected the team,” Raquel replied, her voice stern. 

He breathed deeply through his nose, knowing that Raquel would be less receptive to his shouting than Sergio. He had to have better control of this storm of emotions that threatened to spill out of him. He had been through worse situations before, and handled them without as much as breaking a sweat. But, with Martín on the table, something inside of him snapped that wasn’t so easy to tape back together. 

“He’ll be fine, Andrés. Stick to the plan,” Sergio ordered. Back in the van, he fell back into his chair, trying to relax himself. He rolled his eyes as he watched Andrés looked directly into the nearest camera, and slammed the phone down. 

Without missing a beat, he turned around on his heel. “If you make this worse Tokyo, I swear I will not hesitate to blind you, too.” 

She dropped the tweezers on the table next to Martín, pulling her gun from where it rested on her waist. She pointed it directly at Andrés’ chest, glancing between him and Martín. “I get it. Your boyfriend,” she taunted, her voice slowly dragging out each syllable. Andrés felt his chest tighten, worry briefly rushing over his rage, “is hurt. But don’t you dare threaten me while I’m trying to help him. Nobody asked him to do that.” 

He headed out of the room without so much as another word. Stick to the plan. He knew he had to find the governor before it was too late. A dull ache filled him, as he took step after step away from Martín. He’d be back soon, he told himself. Martín could get the help he needed, and Andrés would come back to see him while he rested. 

\------

Martín groaned, as his eyes blinked open, slowly. His eyelids were heavy, his vision mixed with dark and hazy shapes. He tried to find the energy to sit up, his limbs seeming not to cooperate with any command he gave them. He slumped back onto the table, simply looking at what light he could make out above his head. 

“What were you thinking?” He heard Andrés demand. Each word was slower than the next, and he didn’t need to be looking at him to see how tight the muscles in his face were. He imagined the steam coming off Andrés’ ears as he spoke to him. He’d never actually yelled at Martín before, but he could imagine this was pretty close. 

“I’m fine, Andrés,” he muttered back. 

“I didn’t ask if you were fine. Answer the question. What were you thinking?” 

Martín sighed, as he tried to use his ears to determine where Andrés was in the room. He rolled his head to the right, and tried to make out enough of a shape that would make him feel like he was looking at his friend. “I was protecting our team. That’s what we are supposed to do.” 

“I don’t give a damn about them.” His tone was low, something dark and feral carrying the weight of his words. “You weren’t thinking Martín.” 

“I was thinking Gandia would’ve killed Tokyo or Nairobi, and I was in charge.” He argued back. He could feel his face getting more and more heated by the second. He wished he could look at Andrés in that moment, feel any sense of comfort instead of the feeling that he was drowning by the tension between them. “It’s what you would’ve done.” 

“Because I  _ am _ the leader.” 

“We are a team,” Martín responded adamantly, as he felt his fingers dig in his palm. He clenched his fist as he forced his legs over the side of the table. The vision in his right eye returned enough for him to see Andrés standing across from him, his back against the wall. Even with his blurry eyesight, he could see his friend with his arms hanging at his side, his own hands balled into tight fists. “You may be in charge of the heist, but you are not in charge of me. I made a decision to protect our team.” 

Through his good eye, he could make out Andrés quickly walking in his direction. Before he knew it, he felt himself pulled closer to him, as Andrés’ fingers coiled tightly around hood, closest to his shoulders. Their faces were only inches away, enough for him to make out the intensity behind Andrés’ eyes. He was shaking, his rage uncontrollable. His lips were pinched tightly together, barely opening them as he spoke. “You are  _ mine. _ You will listen to  _ me. _ ”

His voice cracked, as he finally yelled at Martín. His grip loosened on Martín, as he took a step back. The sigh that escaped him made Martín want to grab Andrés in his arms, and never let him go. Instead, he blinked in shock at the declaration that he was something that belonged to Andrés. There was something animalistic to his voice, and Martín’s heart fluttered to it. 

“You ran back through the tunnel when I told you to leave me. Now, you almost let yourself get shot.” Instead of the rage that was there only moments before, there was something softer, something more uncertain. This was the side of Andrés he only exposed to Martín and Sergio. He had been accused of being a sociopath, unable to feel or process emotions. But, Martín knew that wasn’t true. Andrés felt things deeply, when it came to people he cared about. 

“I wasn’t going to let  _ you  _ die,” he argued back, wishing he could grab out and wrap Andrés in his arms, to be held by him until they had both settled down. But they had been putting off this conversation for far too long, and there was no stopping it after its arrival. “We come in together, we leave together.” 

Andrés stepped closer to him once more, his hand rested on Martín’s thigh. “I don’t care about them.” This time his voice was low. Both of them knew they had duties to the gang, had to step up and be willing to protect and trust each other so long as they were saddled back together trying to rescue Rio. Martín looked at him, his breath caught in his chest as Andrés’ other hand rested on his cheek. “I care about you.” 

Andrés’ words were so sincere, so honest and unlike anything he had said to him before, Martín was certain that he must have been making them up. Still, the way Andrés leaned in closer to him, his body seizing to shake as he leaned in closer to Martín confirmed that this moment was real. “We come in together, we leave together,” he repeated, softly. There was nothing in this world for him if Andrés was not in it. 

Martín’s heart stopped in his chest, unable to move from his spot as he felt Andrés’ lips come crashing down on his. His fingers twisted around Martín’s shirt, pulling him closer. He lips smashed against Martín’s, who could only hungrily push back against Andrés. The struggle for the upper hand continued between them, as hands roamed down the other’s arms and back. He let out a low moan as Andrés’ teeth nipped at his bottom lip, the struggle for control constant between them. 

“We will leave here together.” It was an order, but almost a promise between them. No more unnecessary heroics. A moment more of thought before they reacted. “You’re  _ mine _ ,” Andrés growled once more, this time his lips inches away from Martín’s. He simply nodded, giving in once more as he pulled Andrés tightly into his arms. 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Also, if you have anything you'd like to see me write, suggestions are always great. Otherwise, the Berlermo gc on twitter would tell you I have a tendency to be an angsty little shit. 
> 
> twitter: @berlermo


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